


Beneath Your Belly I Go

by ix_tab



Series: This Is What Love Looks Like [11]
Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Caretaking, Fisting, Golden Lovers, M/M, casual D/s dynamic, homecoming emphasis on the coming, mild to medium kink, ok i will see myself out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-21 23:51:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15569103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ix_tab/pseuds/ix_tab
Summary: Being back in Kagoshima for the G1 puts Kota in a contemplative mood. He has a plan for their night off, and Kenny is a more then willing co-conspirator.





	Beneath Your Belly I Go

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to Kenny for his 'my hometown boy, and his hometown crowd, Ibutan!' promo for giving me fuel forever and ever.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.
> 
> Title from Machine Gun Fellatio's "Pussy Town", which I have desperately been trying to use lyrics from, to title a fic with for years.

Kota watches as Kenny throws himself down onto his childhood bed, landing with a bounce. There's no puff of dust, the Ibushi's housekeeper keeps it neat and clean.

Kenny looks around, seeming enchanted by the room, a mishmash of Kota's life.

Posters on the wall of dragonball, of wrestlers, shelves with old school text books, a childhood toy stuffed into the corner, a jacket with worn elbows hanging over a chair.

But also, gym gear, a pair of ankle weights. He was back here enough to train. There's only so many conversations he can have about his 'future' before he needs to work out some stress.

"You come back often enough to keep stuff here?" Kenny asks, useless small talk. Kota ignores the question, grabs at Kenny's legs, careful to not jostle him and sits down on the bed. He lowers Kenny's legs onto his lap.

He wraps both hands around the dainty ankle of Kenny's injured leg. The unhealthy warmth of the flesh still emanates through the wrappings and his sock.

Kenny lets him, trusts him with the weight of the leg. Kota thinks about that trust, and thinks about how desperately they both want to win.

He doesn't want it to come at the cost of their hard fought, hard won, reforged relationship, or at the cost of either of their bodies.

His neck and chest are unwelcome reminders that he too, is battle scarred.

"My parents were happy to see you," Kota says, and Kenny lets out a hiss of air, a tiny sigh.

"Yeah. As happy as they ever are to see me. Ugh. It's all complicated, Bu-san."

Kenny makes to roll away but Kota tightens his grip on the ankle, just a little. Kenny stops, surprised and big blue eyes meet Kota's own, questioning. Kota lifts Kenny's leg up, supported all the way, running his hands along the smooth muscle of the calf.

Kenny subsides, lets it happen.

"It's been a lot more tense. At least they've moved past me and men, now it's just 'are you sure you want to keep wrestling?'. And they've stopped asking directly," Kota muses, feeling the twitch and stretch in Kenny's leg.

He lowers it back down, giving a kiss to the kneecap as an apology for causing a flinch.

"You ok? I can run interference if you like. Your mother loves explaining things to me," Kenny says, earnestly. Kota loves him.

"No, you don’t have to. They are never going to be truly fine with it, but they are satisfied when I am happy."

"And you are happy, right?" Kenny's familiar anxious voice. Kota rubs his knee.

"I am. I don't think I've been this happy for...for a long time. For years, Kenny-tan," he says, softly. Smiles as Kenny's eyes dampen, as he sniffs.

It's always endeared him, how easy Kenny is brought to tears. It's probably a bit mean, but he's always thought Kenny looks pretty when he's crying, just like when he laughs. One of the things he loves most is Kenny’s big expressive emotions. Kenny isn’t good at hiding, and he likes that.

"I'm so glad, so glad," Kenny whispers, more to himself, then Kota.

"What do you want to do? Sleep? Get well rested? Big matches for both of us tomorrow, after all." Kota smiles big as Kenny writhes, kicking Kota in the thighs with the least force his legs have ever come down on another person.

"Kota, we did not come to your childhood home, and have a slightly uncomfortable meal with your folks not to fuck on your bedroom floor. We even found the spare futons," Kenny says, mock sternly, until he giggles.

The tears that had threatened to spill over have been blinked away. Kota reaches out to touch his face, and Kenny twists his head to kiss the webbing of his thumb.

"You're right, it would be a waste. And besides...I actually have a plan."

Kota slides out from underneath Kenny, goes to rummage through his bag. Kenny takes the opportunity to lay down one of the guest towels Kota's mother had given him on the slightly messy pile of thin futons on the ground.

He turns back to find Kenny naked and reclining on the towel, pillows, blankets and sheets hastily torn from the bed.

"Ibutan, we are alone for the first time in weeks. Even when we are in our hotel rooms, there's people everywhere, just a careless knock away. I'm a just a tiny bit, just a little eager. I feel like I haven’t touched you in weeks, and I’ve been in your bed all that time."

Kota snorts a little. Kenny was exaggerating but he couldn’t disagree. He understood the sentiment, felt it bone deep. The worst sort of tease, being next to Kenny and their bodies, the people around them, the timing denying them intimacy.

As it turns out, hotel life, the relentless grind of the tournament and summer as a whole just hasn’t been as conducive to sex as they’d both like. And Kenny’s leg limits them more.

He’s not going to go to the New Japan higher ups and say ‘oh sorry, the champion is out of the G1 because he wrapped his ankles around my neck and we overbalanced’.

Most nights they just curled up next to each other, prepared to put up with the stifling heat to be close, to share their space.

Now in the silence and blessedly powerful air conditioned bubble of his childhood bedroom, Kenny grabs at the air, trying to summon Kota towards him.

“Greedy,” Kota admonishes him, waits for him to pay attention to what Kota has ferreted out of his bag.

Kota holds a pair of black latex gloves and a new bottle of lube, something to replace the near empty tube they’ve been relying on, and hadn’t bothered replacing through the tour.

Kenny gulps, colour blooming on his throat, seeping onto his chest.

“You weren’t kidding about having a plan. Is this what you bought when you said you were going out for a walk yesterday, to ‘clear your head’ ?” Kenny asks, eventually. His eyes are huge, he’s licking his lips nervously but Kota knows his tells.

Kenny wants it.

Kota nods, and moves so they are touching, but doesn’t sit down. He stands over Kenny’s naked form, feeling like he’s ten feet tall.  He’s shirtless, and Kenny sits up to help him pull down his jeans. Familiar heat building in his body, as Kenny looks up at him, waiting for permission before undoing his fly.

He ruffles a hand through Kenny’s hair, keeping a light hold, and they both gasp as Kota’s cock, half hard already from frustration, from wanting, slaps against his thigh.

“How do you want to do this, Bu-san? You want me to get you off first, or is that going to send you to sleep?” Kenny asks, sliver of pink tongue peaking out between his teeth.

“You're getting us confused. I'm not the one who passes out after orgasm. But yes. I need to focus for this and I'm not going to be able to, if I'm desperate.”

“Hand or mouth?” Kenny asks, wiggling his fingers. Kota releases his grip on Kenny's curls, sliding his hand to cup Kenny's jaw, chin.

He laughs at Kenny's pout when Kota won't let him suck on his thumb, just glancing it off his lips.

“Take me in your mouth. I want to see you, see you work for it, Kenny-tan,” Kota says, low and dark.

Kenny groans, hand reaching down to grab himself.

Kota slaps his arm, not hard enough to leave any sort of mark, but enough to make his point.

“Later. Now? Now it's my turn.” Kota sits on the edge of the bared bed and Kenny kneels up, kissing his inner thighs.

As long as he wasn't sitting on his heels, in seiza, Kenny seems to be fine. In any case, Kota's lap was supporting the majority of Kenny’s weight.

Kenny presses against him, takes his cock in hand, licking at the sensitive skin that peeks out between the gaps his fingers leave.

He maintains eye contact with Kota, as best he can, and staring into Kenny's bright eyes, tormented by Kenny's fingers and searching tongue may be too much for Kota.

He'd worked himself up over the whole day, thinking about Kenny, the way he feels around his hand, the look of it.

He's almost irritated with his own body. He wants it done, wants it fast so he can get to the main event sooner.

“Suck me, Kenny ” Kota orders, hand back on Kenny’s head, and there's not much gentleness in the way he keeps hold.

Kenny groans again, clenching his eyes shut for a second, trying to get his breath to even out.

“Ok, ok. I've got you, I've got you." Kenny soothes him in response, pulling back to wrap his hand around the base of Kota's cock and then just encompassing him with his mouth.

It's shallow, but not a tease. Kenny is diligent, ardent as he curves his tongue, slides the head of Kota's cock over it, lips touching his own firm grip.

Kota is not a loud man, and he has staying power. He's brought Kenny to tears, fucking his mouth until his lips are red and swollen, too sore to smile the next day.

But that is not the case today. Ridiculous, how he can feel himself quicken, as Kenny slowly, meticulously releases a finger at a time, pulling Kota into his throat deeper and deeper as he does.

The slick, wet heat of that throat, and the man it belongs to are going to ruin Kota.

He grinds into Kenny’s mouth, panting like he's running a marathon. Kenny loses control, gives it over to Kota and Kota holds him still as he thrusts faster.

It's too soon, not fast enough and Kota only gets out a half syllable of a warning before he comes, Kenny swallowing convulsively  around him, coughing a little

“Ahh. Ah, Kenny-tan, I’m sorry,” Kota mutters, pulling away, releasing his tight grip on Kenny's head. Kenny beams at him, looking smug.

“It's ok. I don't mind swallowing now and then, and you just couldn't hold back, overwhelmed by how good I am. Understandable!” He says, taking the flick on the forehead Kota delivers without a flinch.

“Brat,” Kota says fondly, breathing through the deep satisfaction, the relief. He’s dazed, just a little and he needs to focus for this.

Kenny loses the smile, and they quietly work together to position him on the futons. The leg comes into play again. Kota cannot do this, do anything, if it's going to cause further injury. Kenny looks frustrated with himself, glaring down at his bandaged and padded heel.

“What do you think is going to be best? Normally, I’d have you on all fours, but..I think you could lose focus and hurt yourself. On your back? There’d be no weight on it, but…” Kota, trying to troubleshoot.

They could do anything else, something less strenuous. It’s tempting, just to hold Kenny down and suck his cock as he squirmed. But he wants this, wants this intimacy. He wants to push them both to a limit. He’s been thinking about his hand inside Kenny for weeks now.

“I've...I've got an idea,” Kenny says, blushing, from something other then just getting his breath back. He points to his own bag and Kota, curious brings it to him.

Kenny sits up, picking and sorting through his clothes until he pulls out a black leather belt.

“What are you thinking, Kenny?” Kota asks, mind racing at the sight of the leather strap and Kenny's naked body.

“Um, ok. So, I think this will work,” Kenny says, and offers the belt to Kota, bending his bad leg up to his chest.

Kota's mouth goes dry as he realises what Kenny's suggesting. Laughs to himself, knowing that Kenny's been thinking about the same things he has.

He takes the belt, and wraps around Kenny’s leg, higher than would normally happen.

The belt rests under the front of the knee, binding it bent in half, limiting pressure on his ankle. Pulls the belt tight, listening to the way Kenny’s breath hitches. He buckles it, and tests it. It doesn’t seem like it will cut off blood supply, but it is a makeshift binding.

“Kenny. Kenny-tan,” Kota grabs Kenny’s chin, making him look him dead in the eyes.

“If you feel even the slightest amount of pins and needles, tell me. I won’t be mad. I will be disappointed if you don’t tell me.” Kota waits until Kenny nods, and then says “I understand,” his voice quiet but sure.

“Say stop, say no, and we pause, or we finish. It’s ok. It’s always ok. I know that you know this. But I need you to say it,” and waits until Kenny says ‘Yes, yes, Kota. Please.”

For once, he’s not trying to tease Kenny, play with him until he gets him to beg. He needs Kenny to agree to the terms, to abide by them. He’s in this to fuck Kenny, not to fuck him up.

“Ok. Alright. Let’s begin,” Kota says, finally. He pushes Kenny onto his back, pushes a pillow under the small of his back to raise his ass up. Kenny goes with it, pliant, breath slow and even.

This is so different to their normal dynamic, laughing, competitive, Kenny gleeful in loss but never making surrender easy, unless he was in the mood.

This is quiet, almost reverent.

Not even the snap of Kota putting one glove on breaks the tension. Kenny just tracks his movement, eyes wide, watching Kota pour lube onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm it a little.

He sits down, rubs Kenny’s free calf with his dry hand, and then slides two fingers into Kenny, garnering a whimper. The heat of Kenny’s body is palpable, even though the thin shield of the glove. He wants to sink in there, but he needs to work up to that, or this will be over before it starts.

He’s slow, methodical. Pulling out to stroke and stretch the rim, Kenny hissing through his teeth, and then sinking back in, scissoring his fingers apart.

Kota is so used to thinking about this act as a means to an end. Fingers inside either of them, loosening and then either of the two of them being pierced to the core.

And he loves fucking Kenny, loves being fucked by him. Loves feeling the desperation, the rush, the way Kenny keens for him to go harder, or the way Kenny listens to him, fucking him faster, bending him in two.

But this, fingers in deep, is something special too. And it occurs that he should savour it more. There’s a pleasure to this, his own satiated body disregarded as he focuses fully on the noises that Kenny makes, the way he can’t move away, the spasm in his thigh muscles as he tries to push back.

“Doing so well for me,” Kota praises, adding a third finger. It’s so strange to go slow, but it’s working for him. He watches his fingers sink into Kenny, the glove making him feel like he’s watching a stranger do it.

He files that aside for examination later on, the way it lights a spark inside him. Kenny has thrown his head back, helplessly. He’s probably used to speeding through this as well, and now he’s caught by it.

Kota clenches his three fingers together, and sinks in, up to his knuckles, and pauses. Kenny has been moving with him, and sobs at the cessation of movement. Sweat is sticking his hair to his forehead, and Kota leans up to wipe it away with his free hand, running a thumb along Kenny’s cheekbone.

Kenny’s eyes had been clenched closed, tight but they flutter open at the touch. They are bright with unshed tears again, a sight that Kota is more than familiar with.

“With me?” Kota asks. Kenny sighs, and whispers “Yes”.

“I can...I can feel you move in me, each finger. It’s a lot. It’s, it’s different then your cock. I forgot the way it feels when we take time,” Kenny gets out, losing his train of thought a few times.

Kota grins at him, bends him a little more in the middle so he can kiss him. And then, he moves again.

 He knows he should be starting to push for another finger, but he just wants to be here for a moment, still as Kenny wakes from his passivity, starts trying to press down harder. Kota stops the motion, hard grip on the underside of his free thigh.

“I get to set the pace, remember,” Kota says mildly, and Kenny swears in English, then Japanese so Kota gets the point. Kota muffles a laugh.

Kenny’s Japanese is almost always polite, even in familiar company. His rougher speech has to be won from him, and it’s a victory Kota enjoys. Just another way he’s able to break Kenny down into his components, trusted to be able to rebuild him.

“Ibutan, please, please move,” Kenny pleads with him. Kota is weak to that voice, and gives in, twisting his hand, careful, so careful as Kenny writhes, turns his head to bite the blanket, silencing his own voice.

After a few moments, he pulls out entirely, and Kenny yells “No, come back!” Panicked like Kota was about to abandon him.

Kota holds up his hand, wiggles his fingers, relieving the stress on them and then pours more lube into his palm. He considers for a second and then dribbles more lube down directly onto Kenny's hole.

He doesn't even flinch, continuing to whine until Kota is back inside him, slicker and able to stretch Kenny open wider.

“Tell me how it feels,” Kota says, mindful of the twitch in Kenny’s free leg. He strokes it gently, slowing the movement of his other hand to a stuttering crawl.

Kenny groans, thumps the futon in frustration.

“It’s concentrated. When you push deeper...I can feel it all up my spine. Kota, I don't have the right words, please please just keep going!”

Kenny sounds almost wild when he begs, and Kota realises that while he's been feeling contemplative about the whole experience, Kenny is being driven to distraction.

“I've got you,” he says back, simply and begins to push in with his fourth finger.

Kenny arches his back up with a jolt, mouth open but soundless. Kota tests it, pulling his fingers together into a solid force, and thrusting in faster, deeper.

He moves up closer, wrapping Kenny's free leg around his own waist, getting a better downwards angle. He can tell from the gasping noises Kenny starts to make that its working.

He brushes his arm accidentally against Kenny's cock, which had remained untouched until now. Kenny's breaths become shallower, noises shifting into sobs, but he still pushes back, struggling against his own captivity. 

Kota takes a steadying breath and moves to start pressing in with his thumb. He barely gets the pad of the thumb in before Kenny cries out “Stop!”

He does, immediately.

Pulls his thumb away, bending over to make Kenny face him, not loll his head into the pillow.

“Are you ok?” He asks, looking intently at Kenny's teary face, keeping his bleary gaze.

“I can't, I can't take that much. It's too much, hurts,” Kenny says, gulping air into his heaving chest. Kota smiles at him, kisses him on the corner of the mouth.

“Thank you. You did so well, Kenny-tan. You listened, you trusted me,” and Kenny starts crying in earnest at his words.

He goes back to just two fingers, Kenny's body shuddering with over-stimulation and doubles over to take Kenny’s cock into his mouth. He crooks his fingers up to maintain pressure, and he barely gets his lips closed before Kenny comes.

He licks his lips, slowly removing his hand entirely from Kenny's body, stripping the glove off, stretching the cramp out of his fingers. 

Kenny lays, insensate beneath him. He ignores the feeble attempt from his own body to get hard again, and loosens the belt around the injured leg. He clicks his tongue in dismay, seeing the deep red marks it has bitten into the shin and thigh.

“Kenny! You didn't say anything,” he reprimands, but Kenny doesn't seem to understand.

“I told you to say anything the moment your leg hurt.” Kota lowers the leg in question down, but Kenny remains docile, unflinching.

It looks like he's gone somewhere deeper into his own head, like it takes an exhaustive amount of effort to even recognise that he's being spoken to.

Kota's grateful that Kenny's bag is in arm's reach, because he can pull the half full bottle of water from it, takes a swig himself, and then, tenderly tilts Kenny's head so he can let the water trickle into his mouth. 

Kenny drinks slow, his eyes half closed. He doesn't make a single noise as Kota shuffles them around so he can curl up into Kota's side as Kota lays on his back.

Kota pulls him closer, around the shoulders and they both doze, not hitting real sleep but too exhausted in different ways to stay fully conscious.

 

***

When Kota opens his eyes again, it’s because the early summer sun is flickering through the half closed blinds. He curses his past self. Yesterday's Kota had not been thinking about today's Kota and getting any rest.

“Hey,” Kenny says softly. He's watching Kota with a gentle expression. “Hi,” Kota says back. He's not able to process his thoughts just yet other then that he was stupidly in love, and it was reciprocated, clear and bright as the light starting to fill the room.

“My hometown boy,” Kenny says fondly, and kisses him lightly on the chin, the throat, his collarbone.

Kota laughs, and grabs him into a proper kiss, wanting to extend it, wanting to never move again. Kenny pulls away reluctantly  and pats him on the cheek.

“Come on, Ibutan, let’s go face the day,” Kenny says, and holds out an arm, expectantly, warm with affection.

Kota staggers to his feet, feeling all of the aches that sleeping on the lumpy old futons have left him with and not regretting a single one.

He reaches down to pull Kenny up towards him, and Kenny moves faster then either of them expected. They collide, wobbling but between the pair of them, they regain equilibrium.

“Ready?” Kota asks, and Kenny scoffs.

“I was born ready, Ibutan,” Kenny says, mind clearly on the night’s upcoming match.

“I meant, ready to have breakfast with my parents.”

“Oh! Oh. Uh, let’s have a shower first,” Kenny says, sheepishly. Kota does his best not to laugh at him.

“You want me to carry you?” He offers, and Kenny shoves at him, playfully.

“I’m fine, thank you very much,” Kenny says, haughty, but leans against him as they make their way out.

It’s a welcome weight.

 


End file.
